After Hurt
by Anesther
Summary: I just let them lie and they have no control over me again. Peeta-centric; pairing: Catoniss


After Hurt

* * *

I watch the two of them walking together, a foot in-between them, no contact being made at all. It strikes me funny. They simply don't need to be physical to show they're intimate. It's like watching two halves of a whole be perfectly comfortable split apart because their nearness is enough.

Katniss stops, brushing back her dark hair, blacker in the sunlight filtering through windows and it seems to shine with tinges of blue. I wish I had my painting supplies with me on hand—I'd love to paint it. But then she always looks beautiful. Her features are not the stereotypical pretty back home at 12. If someone had a fuller figure, they were thought of as much better-looking, which is understandable. But all I could ever seem to notice was her.

When Katniss had gotten up to sing when we were just little kids, I had noticed her immediately but her voice drew me in, and I let myself drown in her song.

He has no idea how lucky he is.

If it was me, I would be holding her hand constantly, pulling her closer until we can't be anymore. There's always been that desire to get nearer to her. Like my heart swells until it expands to the breaking point. She's too incredible to me and, even now, after watching them fall in love over a year, it still beats rapidly when I see her.

But maybe… maybe he doesn't love her the way I do.

I've looked at her millions of times—her presence draws me in no matter what; and I know her. But I don't know him very well. He's always so stiff, a soldier through and through. He's still as cocky as he's always been, but in a darker, quieter way than Finnick; Fin flirts and exudes confidence because he's both naturally cheerful and hiding the past only a few of us know about. Cato has a confidence that seems almost beaten into him yet encouraged because it's part of his personality, to show the people around him not to mess with him, not to get close.

And the flirting…he's only ever done it with her.

I watch her as she stops, stance lopsided, one leg straight and the other bent with the foot arched. It's so…vulnerable; feminine, even. I don't think I've seen her do that before. It's not the stance of a hunter at all, but of something softer, though not exactly prey.

He's looking at her rigidly, body rod straight. I look carefully though and it's _there_—the casual release of tension in his shoulders, and while his eyes are predatory, his mouth curves up in the slightest of smiles, completely smitten, touching her with his gaze.

I turn away. Envy stirs in me, hot and slow. I hate looking at them sometimes. I don't hate her for her choice. Katniss is her own person and I can't exactly blame her—we're just not meant to be... It destroyed me when I found out. I didn't hide my affections when they surfaced but I didn't push them on her either, wanting it to be natural if she fell in love with me. And, I think, she may have come close. It sent my mind through a whirlwind of emotions—fast and rampant.

But, one day, I noticed them and I saw _the look_ on her face—I would know; it's the same one that's been on mine forever. I don't know when it happened—I see her so often; and Gale didn't catch the glances either until we both realized it was too late: she'd fallen for someone that he and I both don't trust. It seemed unfathomable to us. She's so level-headed, cautious, and withdrawn. Yet her heart had _opened up_ to let someone in.

For us, Katniss should have known better.

It continued on from there, spiraling down into a bottomless pit where I and others couldn't follow. A little corner of the world reserved for the two of them.

And, desperately, Gale and I hoped beyond hope that he wouldn't love her back.

Because then she'd return; broken, but aware. It was selfish for us to think but we thought it anyway. He's so reckless and hotheaded. He was going to get her killed. He's destructive, argumentative; sometimes he's so malicious it's inhuman. I feared for her so much it pained me to even watch in the beginning.

We knew better than to force her out of it, though we confronted her directly. She had gotten angry, of course, and she even said that she hadn't meant to—it just _happened_. She took in her feelings logically, weighing the pros and cons. And, for her, she probably knew that this wasn't smart—maybe even still does. But she had gotten to the point where she wanted happiness as much as the rest of us.

So while she didn't fight us, she didn't fight herself either.

Then, one day on a reconnaissance mission, he and she were scouting together. And we saw them on the cameras that trail our soldiers—they were being ambushed. Guns and steel blew fire and smoke and we were screaming helplessly at the screens, Prim wrapped in hysteria while the rest of us gathered our weapons to join them.

But Cinna shouted something that made us turn our heads: in the midst of the battle, he rushed forward to protect her, a bullet blasting through his shoulder. He raged on, blind yet focused, and his sword became an extension of himself. He was frightening in the Arena, almost fearless. Not on our cameras—panic and fear were drawn on his face beneath the rage, and he killed them all before we even knew what we were staring at.

Once the Capitol's people were taken down, he knelt in front her, calling out her name, brushing back her hair. She came to, only knocked out—probably so the Capitol could kidnap her; she was more valuable alive at that point—and when she smiled her thanks, he took hold of her in a fierce protective embrace that still leaves me shocked and bitter inside, heart clenched tightly.

He proved himself to us that day. He was no longer the boy we thought would turn on us for glory from the Capitol. He was a boy in love with the very reason he could no longer have that glory and _didn't_ _care_.

We still have some of our doubts but her faith in his loyalty is unwavering.

It's not just her changing in little ways; it's him, too. The other day Fin and he were conversing, Fin told a joke and Cato _laughed_. It was so genuine, so _human;_ it nearly threw me for a loop. Prim and he get along surprisingly well, and I know it gives her joy to see two people she loves deeply enjoying each other's company. He guards Prim fiercely, where before he would treat her with the same indifference as everyone else. Ironically, he and Prim relaxed around each other long before he and she did. Maybe that's how it started—Prim means the world to her and if he won her little sister's trust… I know better than to think it's planned. Prim is simply one of those people that you'll treasure.

I miss her.

She actually spends more time with us—her sister, Gale, Madge, me—than with him. However it doesn't take a genius to notice how she acts with him. There's a lightness in her step, in her gray eyes. Like the world suddenly doesn't weigh that much anymore for the Mockingjay.

And she's feeling all this because of him.

I hear them murmuring. I glance at them and they continue walking, her body small and dark compared to his looming golden frame.

It dawns on me: if I had no romantic feelings for her, they would be a couple worth painting.

To put them on canvas, where everything is immortal, it would torture me, even long after their memory is gone.

But I know the benefits of painting my feelings on paper, where I can let go of everything and move on, putting them in a world where after hurt I just let them lie and they have no control over me again.

It saddens me, because she's been a part of my world for so long. To remove her would crumble the earth I know. But no one can ever grow new things without eradicating some old ones. In my heart, though, I know I'll love her forever—I just want the love to be a different kind.

They turn a corner, leaving my sight, silent, almost foreboding in their loving unison. Tonight, even though it'll be painful, I vow to paint them and, maybe, if I ever truly let go, I'll show it to her so she'll know how much she meant to me; not out of vengeance but out of thanks. She's been an inspiration and comfort in my life.

I hope that day is sooner than later.

The girl loves my paintings.


End file.
